


Pressure Release

by graphic_winged_observer



Series: Within the Walls of 221b [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Job, Fluff, Hand Job, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:05:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graphic_winged_observer/pseuds/graphic_winged_observer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another ugly migraine threatens to undo John and once again it’s Sherlock to the rescue, but perhaps there’s more here than just the pain to ease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pressure Release

**Author's Note:**

> The characters of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson created by Sir Author Conan Doyle.  
> The setting of Sherlock (BBC) created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.  
> I do not own these characters, I’m just borrowing them for this idea.
> 
> -Sequel to Migraine Relief, but can easily be read as a stand alone-

Crisp November air nipped at Sherlock’s cheeks as he made his way back to Baker Street. It had been an excessively boring day, not that the case was boring, oh no, not at all; serial killers were always fun. No, the day had been boring because John hadn’t been able to get off work from the Surgery and left Sherlock on his lonesome, with only Anderson providing some minute entertainment during the day.  
  
The evening sun dipped beneath the skyline and dropped Baker Street into sudden darkness and making the chill turn a bit more sharp against Sherlock’s exposed face. He popped his collar and tightened his scarf as he quickened his pace to his flat. Sherlock pulled his keys, unlocked the door, and quickly made his way upstairs, briskly entering the dark and; thankfully, warm flat. The sight of the drawn curtains made the fire seem that much more bright. He closed the door with a snap and made to remove his coat when a small noise from the sofa caught his attention.  
  
“Could you possibly make _anymore_ noise?” There was a sharp edge to John’s voice that Sherlock rarely heard and it threatened to draw his lips into a frown. He hadn’t even noticed the doctor lying on the sofa when he entered. Sherlock eyed John carefully, taking in as much data as he could in the dark. One arm crossed over his eyes, the other lying limp from the sofa to the floor; though the fingers of both hands curled in fists. His head turned from the offense and Sherlock could see his face better as John dropped it to his chest. His brow was furrowed again, deeper and much more pronounced than the last migraine; which was successfully avoided months ago.   
  
“I didn’t realize you were in, John,” Sherlock’s voice was quiet in the attempt to not bother his flatmate any further. He placed his coat on the hook and tenderly knelt next to John, lifting his arm from the floor and carefully taking his pulse. Slightly elevated and thankfully his breathing wasn’t exactly what Sherlock would call labored. “Long day?” he asked, placing his free hand on John’s forehead. “You realize you have a slight fever?”  
  
“Long doesn’t even _begin_ to cover my day,” John stated in a pained voice, shoving Sherlock’s hand away to rub his brow. It wasn’t hard to hide the hurt from his face in the dark, but Sherlock didn’t like being treated roughly, especially when he was only trying to be helpful. “And yes, I do realize I have a fever, but that’s probably the fires doing.” John tried to soften his voice, but the pressure in his skull wasn’t allowing for much more than what he was giving.  
  
Sherlock sighed and quickly dismissed the idea of leaving John to his misery, he knew the pain of migraines all too well himself and John had yet to leave him alone through one of his; so he thought he might as well as return the favor. He stood and gave the fire a good stir, adding another log before retrieving the body lotion from the table near his armchair. “Budge up,” the detective all but ordered when he returned to John’s side; who cast Sherlock a tired, pained look that clearly said he was in no mood.  
  
“Only trying to help, I promise,” Sherlock swore, placing one hand over his heart. “Please, John?” the detective begged, hating the very fact that he needed to in the first place. John was only exceptionally distrusting when in pain and he was clearly in more pain than he was letting on. John huffed with a frown and leaned painfully up, his eyes shutting as a wave of nausea overtook him.  
  
Sherlock quickly bent and placed a comforting hand between John’s shoulders, the muscles there so tense that they pulled his button down shirt tight. “How long have you had you been in pain, John?” he inquired quietly, slowly helping John into a sitting position before slipping out of his jacket; tossing it onto the opposite end of the coffee table.  
  
“Since about noon, when the surgery started to pick up. I tried to head it off but nothing doing.” John roughed a hand along the back of his neck and held himself up as Sherlock seated himself around him, one leg tucked between John and the leather cushion while the other stretched out long with his foot resting on the floor. Sherlock felt the doctor tense beneath his touch, sighed at the fact, and did his best to ignore it but migraine pain made everything hurt so much more acutely.  
  
John unbuttoned his cuffs and prepared himself for the massage he knew was coming but was taken aback when Sherlock made him lean back against his chest and rested a protective hand over John’s heart. Sherlock rested his chin on John’s shoulder and placed his other hand in the good doctor’s sandy hair, drawing careful circles into his scalp.  
  
“…Sherlock?” he asked wearily, closing his eyes against the subtle pressure.  
  
Sherlock hushed the doctor with a nudge of his nose against his cheek. “Just relax, John,” the detective whispered into John’s ear, placing a gentle kiss against his jaw before moving both hands through his hair, occasionally tugging playfully at the follicles. Sherlock was as gentle as he could possibly be while still giving a proper massage. Languid hands worked steadily, building pressure as John’s neck and shoulders showed signs of releasing their tension.  
  
Pressing his warm hands against John’s neck, Sherlock just let the tight muscles soak in the heat before he carefully moved his hands along tense shoulder muscles; nimble finger assessing the knots here and there. He eased his hands over John’s shoulder and down his chest, beginning to unbutton the shirt.  
  
John’s breath caught and the action immediately stilled Sherlock. Neither man spoke for several minutes, the crackle of their fire the only noise in the flat. “Do…,” the detective paused, swallowing hard. He’d never been in a position like this with anyone before and it unnerved him to a point that he was finding this arousing; he adjusted his position under John slightly to hide that fact. “Do you not want me to continue?” Sherlock finally asked after too many quiet minutes passed by.  
  
“No, please don’t stop,” John all but whined, it was a much needed distraction from the pounding pain in his head. He rested his left hand on Sherlock’s knee and began tracing the same circles into the kneecap. “You all right?” he asked when his friend took a deep, shuddering breath at the action.  
  
“Um…I’m fine, John,” Sherlock choked out. Attempting to quell the sexuality of the situation was slowly going out the window as he continued down John’s chest, tugging the fabric gently from his trousers. Sherlock leaned John up and helped him slide his arms from the shirt and tossed it atop his own jacket.  
  
John leaned back against his friend, the firelight making wonderful shadows in the valleys breaking John’s muscles. Sherlock found it fascinating that the good doctor was so much more fit than his attire let on, his jumpers hiding a truly well tone figure beneath their warm wool.  
  
Sherlock rolled his sleeves up before moving to press the pump on the lotion with his palm and cradled the lotion on his fingers before warming it between his hands and leaning John forward to begin massaging his back. He shifted a little as he worked his hands over John’s taut muscles, gently easing the pain and pressure from them. Sherlock eased his palms into John’s shoulder blades and down along his spine, careful not to touch the spine itself, though crossing his fingers gently over the bones as he wound his way back up.  
  
A relieved sigh escaped John’s mouth causing the corners of Sherlock’s lips to turn up slightly. He continued to massage John’s back, focusing on his shoulders and neck; working the lotion into his skin as the night wore on. After kneading into a few especially difficult knots Sherlock excused himself a moment to stir the fire a bit more. His knees cracked and he did his best to hide his growing arousal at the situation. John, _his_ John was in pain, why in the perfect blue hell was he aroused by that?  
  
“Sherlock, are you sure you’re all right?” John asked; his voice sounding much less strained, drawing Sherlock’s attention back to him, but his voice failed. The doctor was leaned back, arching quite suggestively in an attempt to crack his back. Sherlock watched the toned muscles stretch beneath his skin, pulling taut as he shifted. The sight sent a shiver over his body and made him much harder than he had been two minutes ago. “Sherlock?”  
  
The detective shook his head, tearing his gaze away from his flatmate and muttered, “I’m fine,” rather quickly.  
  
“Liar,” John smirked, his migraine beginning to ebb from his brain.  
  
“Really, John, I’m fine,” Sherlock said once more, still doing his best to hide himself from view.  
  
“You know it doesn’t bother me, right?” Sherlock’s head snapped back to John; now hugging his knees and stretching his muscles again. John’s face looked terribly worn out in the firelight and his tired eyes betrayed the playful smirk on his lips. “What you’re trying to hide, it doesn’t bother me. Not in the slightest,” he said, stretching his arms high above his head and pulling his muscles taut once more, knowing exactly what it was doing to Sherlock; who gulped as he tossed a couple logs onto the fire.  
  
“Since noon is a long time for a migraine,” Sherlock said, avoiding the subject and causing his flatmate to huff through his nose.  
  
“Tah,” John murmured, cracking his neck with a sigh. “You started it.”  
  
Sherlock turned sharply back to John; forgetting to hide his arousal, and said, “What? I wasn’t with you all day.”  
  
“Exactly. I worried myself into a migraine over you. I was worried what sort of trouble you might be getting yourself into with a serial killer on the loose. And then when you started texting signs of life I was far to irritated by pain to respond. Sorry,” John whispered.  
  
Sherlock’s face softened as he made his way back to the sofa as John leaned his head against the armrest, his hand waving about and beckoning the detective closer. John reached up and Sherlock bent to be reached easier and was shocked when John’s hand gripped his shirt and pulled him into a deep kiss. The doctor’s tongue immediately begged entrance and Sherlock let him in with a soft moan. John was a brilliant kisser, subtle yet hard; not quite assaulting his mouth as he was taking a tour of it.  
  
John’s free hand cupped Sherlock gently, causing the detective to break the kiss with a stuttered gasp of, “Jesus Christ, John.” His flatmate smirked at the note of shock on his face and certainly John would be able to feel Sherlock grow harder under his touch. John’s lazy hand gently rubbed Sherlock’s cock through his trousers, quietly building pressure as the owner worried his plum bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to control his breathing.  
  
“Lookit me, Sherlock,” he quietly ordered. Sherlock’s brow knit together but the growing passion in his groin kept his eyes closed. John stilled his hand and asked, “Please?” When Sherlock opened his eyes, he found the room entirely too warm for comfort but didn’t pry his piercing ice blue eyes away from John’s steady hazel spheres. “It’s fine,” he whispered, licking his lips before placing a small kiss to Sherlock’s lips. “It’s all fine.”  
  
After several minutes of silence, Sherlock managed to find his voice once again. “I wasn’t finished with you yet,” he said, his voice husky and doing things to John it had no right being able to do. The detective stood, backlit by the fire and striped himself of his shirt. John could barely contain the smile at the somehow toned physique of his flatmate despite how lithe a frame he had. He sat up when Sherlock’s eyes said he was ready to return and finish the massage.  
  
Sherlock took the same position behind John, this time doing very little to hide his want by pressing his erection into the small of John’s back; who playfully squirmed against it, drawing a throaty groan from Sherlock. He decided to have a bit of fun and unexpectedly placed the flat of his tongue against the doctor’s neck. John shivered beneath the wet warmth, but didn’t dare pull away.  
  
If nothing else, Sherlock was a brilliant multi-tasker and while his tongue worked and gentle massage into John’s neck his hands worked into his hair once more. John rolled his head in Sherlock’s capable hands, the pressure and pleasure from his tongue was amazing, was there nothing this man could do wrong with it? Feeling that Sherlock was getting the raw end of the deal, John worked his steady hands on the insides of his friends thighs, pulling a wondrously vocal noise from him. He worked figure eights and tight circles into Sherlock flesh, wrinkling his trousers in the process.  
  
Sherlock spied over John’s shoulders to his groin, his own pleasure as evident as Sherlock’s, _I have to do something about that,_ he thought to himself as he grinned into John’s neck. He reached for more lotion and leaned John full onto his chest once more; doing his best to keep some self control and not work his way through this too fast.  
  
Massaging John’s face was always one of his favorite tasks, to feel the reactions beneath his nimble fingers was in itself a reward for a job well done. John sighed and allowed his own hands to work Sherlock’s knees, gently pressing his thumb here and there and then back down Sherlock’s thighs in big sweeping motions. Without meaning to, when John’s hand traveled back up his legs, the detective ground into the doctor’s back.  
  
“Sorry,” Sherlock muttered in a small voice, adjusting himself under John’s weight as he continued his facial.  
  
“It’s all fine,” John whispered back, shifting himself a bit so he wasn’t restraining his flatmate as much. Sherlock’s hands smoothed John’s face out and purposefully played with his ears longer than necessary, pinching the lobes slightly and causing John to cant his hips skyward in response.  
  
“I love watching you react,” Sherlock smiled, quickly warming another dollop of lotion between his hands before working circles into the muscles of John’s chest.  
  
“You do pull some great -ah- reactions from me,” John hissed as Sherlock flicked his nipples. He tried to back away from Sherlock practiced hands, but forgot he was trapped by the man himself and could only squirm as the detective played with the sensitive, dark flesh. After watching John try to escape his hands for several minutes, Sherlock stretched his arms down to John’s abs and began massaging there.  
  
He could see how primed John was, but Sherlock was enjoying himself far too much to give John release just now. With the sensuous circles done, Sherlock placed only his fingertips on John’s skin and slowly dragged his arms back up over his chest. John groaned loudly, his body arching into the touch and his hands digging into Sherlock’s thighs.  
  
“How’s your head?” he whispered into John’s ear, taking the lobe playfully between his teeth.  
  
“Well…migraine’s gone if that’s what you’re asking.” His shaky voice brought a smile to Sherlock. Objective achieved. “But now…,” John took a few steadying breathes and tucked one hand behind his back, jolting electricity through Sherlock as he cupped him once more. “Now I’ve got tension elsewhere that needs help.”  
  
Not wanting to lose control of the situation, Sherlock quickly pulled John’s hand away and gripped both of the doctor’s hands in one of his; tucking them behind his head as Sherlock’s mouth took a not-so-gentle bite into John’s neck. John wriggled, trying to escape Sherlock’s greedy mouth, but the man held his hands tightly; it would certainly bruise before morning.  
  
The detective wrapped his free hand around the doctor and deftly undid his trousers. The control and dexterity that Sherlock had always amazed John, not matter what task he was performing. John groaned and his stomach rippled when Sherlock finally pulled him free of his pants. Sherlock released John’s neck and focused all his attention to the member; already glistening with precum, bobbing slightly as the doctor breathed.  
  
“You certainly are eager,” Sherlock murmured, dropping his voice at least one octave and making John groan and grind at the baritone. He wrapped his hand around John and just let it rest there for a moment, feeling the heat of his sex.  
  
“Oh, God. Sherlock please,” he begged, canting up into Sherlock’s fist.  
  
“Impatient too.” He loosed his fist some and slowly began to work his hand up and down John; whose hips shifted acutely to maximize his pleasure. He tugged at his hands, wanting to speed Sherlock along, but the detective refused to let them free. He picked up some speed as the minutes wore on and John begged for more. Sherlock thumbed the head, paying it close attention with careful fingers. He cupped the head with his palm and with a few simple flicks of his wrist pulled the most vocal song from the doctor.  
  
John turned his head to face Sherlock, mouth searching for something to grab on to. Sherlock offered and John took his lips with a ferocity that took the detective a little by surprise. He moaned into the doctor’s mouth and tangled their tongues together refusing to break for air until John came. John bucked his hips in time with Sherlock’s movements and was quickly reaching his peak.  
  
When his lungs burned for air, John broke the passionate kiss and his body froze as he came hard in Sherlock’s hand, spurting in a high arch that even Sherlock found impressive.  
  
“Oh God, Sherlock,” John whimpered, sagging into his friends chest with a smile alighting his face. Sherlock placed a gentle kiss to John’s jaw and made to get up and relieve himself of the same pressure when the doctor suddenly turned over and pushed him back into the sofa cushions.  
  
Sherlock had no time to react as John captured his mouth once more and was quickly working his way into Sherlock’s trousers.  
  
“John!” Sherlock gasped when the doctor pulled him free. He tried pushing his flatmate from him, but John refused to leave, digging his fingers into the flesh of Sherlock’s back; leaving his own kind of love bite. The detective groaned and arched his back as John worked his mouth over sensitive nipples, first left then the right, giving each a gentle blow and sending another jolt through Sherlock that went straight to his cock.  
  
“Ern-John, please,” Sherlock heard himself say, though his hands were still attempting to push the doctor away. John trailed his tongue down Sherlock’s pectorals to his abs as he shimmied further down the sofa, settling himself much better between Sherlock’s long legs.  
  
“Sherlock,” John whispered, barely audible over the detective’s ragged breathing. He looked down his torso to his flatmate and had never seen a more beautiful sight. John’s eyes were dilated as his tongue darted out and licked the precum from Sherlock’s head. That simple touch sent such a shiver through Sherlock’s body that for a moment he couldn’t breath.  
  
“Breathe, Sherlock,” the doctor said, kissing the head softly. Sherlock released an unsteady breath as John repeated, “Breathe.” Despite the hunger John’s mouth had shown for Sherlock’s, he was surprising slow and delicate to his friends sex. He kissed the entire length down and placed the flat of his tongue to the underside as he licked back up. Sherlock’s hips canted up at the movement and John could tell that it had been perfect. He took the head in his lips and flattened his tongue over it as his hand curled around the base.  
  
“Ohgodjohnyes,” Sherlock murmured, his head rolling over his shoulders and settling on the armrest. His hips rolled with every subtle movement John made, the gentle twist of his wrist as he worked Sherlock up and down, the way his tongue massaged his head with learned practice. John reached his free hand up Sherlock’s chest and took a nipple between his fingers, nearly making him cry out in surprise.  
  
“Oh God. You are just _full_ of surprises, aren’t you, John?” Sherlock peered down his chest to the man grinning around his cock. He was preparing to say something else but completely forgot it when John sunk his mouth entirely around him. For once in his life, Sherlock couldn’t think, nothing came to mind but the sight of John swallowing him whole.  
  
John’s tongue rippled against the underside of his cock as he pulled back off, pulling the most glorious sounds from Sherlock. Noises that should only sound perfect in his deep baritone. He could feel Sherlock’s legs tense as he came close to the brink and John readied himself. He eased Sherlock back into his mouth and worked his tongue a little more.  
  
“I’m close, God, I’m close,” Sherlock whined, stomach rippling as his breath came to him much faster. John closed his lips around his sex and created perfect suction as he sucked the orgasm from his flatmate. Sherlock came hard in John’s mouth, hips canting up off the sofa. John hurried to cup Sherlock’s arse and helped him ride out the orgasm as he swallowed his seed.  
  
When Sherlock finished twitching, John eased himself off his cock and laid Sherlock back onto the sofa.  
  
“God, you are _brilliant_ ,” John cooed, placing an open mouthed kiss on Sherlock’s exposed throat.  
  
“And you…,” Sherlock paused, momentarily lost in his afterglow. “You are _skilled_ ,” he finished, making John giggle against his throat. “Thank you, by the way. I would have done it.”  
  
“Seemed only fair to return the favor,” John muttered, his voice tired. Utterly spent, he flopped onto Sherlock’s heaving chest; without bothering to tuck Sherlock or himself away, wrapped arms as best he could around his flatmate, and quickly fell asleep to the hand roving through his hair. Sherlock smiled at John, his John and soon followed him into the draw of the sandman.


End file.
